The Adventures Of Fred Smith Vol II
by O.T. West
Summary: In the long awaited sequel to The Adventures of Fred Smith, we join our unlikely hero Fred in his continuing mission to seek out strange...wait a minute, what is he suppose to be looking for anyway? I appreciate your reviews.
1. Chapter 1

The Adventures of Fred Smith / Smith Family Reunion

Despite being free of the Safety Suit, Fred was more depressed with his lot than ever. There was nothing Fred looked forward to less than family reunions. Hundreds, possibly thousands of people from around the universe gather with such shared traits as inbreeding, being cloned from stale material, eccentricities of various sorts, spontaneously growing extra appendages, and of course, sharing the name of Smith.

Fred entered the enormous grand ballroom of the Uh, I Like Grapes hotel on Baphoo Prime at gunpoint. His parents had hired a band of ruthless mercenaries to make sure Fred made his way to the reunion.

There were twenty to start, but to be in the company of Fred can be a dangerous thing. Through a freak series of events, 3 had fallen down a garbage chute trying to prevent Fred from doing that very thing. Another 2 were put out of commission when they each got a carrot, a set of loaded dice, and their own left shoes stuck up their nostrils in the protection of their charge. There were 5 in piano related fatalities. Four men pulled Fred from quicksand, only to be sucked in themselves. One was accidentally glued to an albatross, and 2 were forced to shoot each other when they were torn between their duty, and offing Fred themselves then making a run for their lives.

Three had made it to the hotel relieved to have made it safely. As they were about to enter, however, a golf ball putted off the moon 1000 years previous took out 2 more as they pushed Fred out of its path. The sole remaining mercenary dragged Fred inside the building, so happy to have survived to their destination that he didn't even stick around to collect his pay, which was substantial seeing as how there was no one left to split it with. Last anyone had heard from him, he had left the mercenary life to become a Tribble herder on one of the moons of Clow, where their fur is harvested to make ugly plaid suits, novelty ties and fake flowers that squirted water into peoples faces.

Fred was about to turn tail and run, when he was caught by a tall, extraordinarily thin man dressed in shades of yellow. The eyes, which already covered most of his face behind huge round lenses, got even larger. A truly disturbing sight. "Fred, dear boy. I am so happy to see you here, it made this whole trip worthwhile for me. You look good, are you working out? I like that uniform/insignia combination, they go good together."

Fred couldn't help but smile. If he had to get caught up in the family reunion thing with anyone, he was glad it was with his cousin.

"Hey Redd, you're looking good yourself. Looks like a lot more than usual came this year."

"Yes, a lot of the long time friends of the Smiths have graced us with their presence as well, and what a joy it has been." Redd explained.

Fred couldn't believe someone who didn't have to be here would come of their own free will. Instead of sharing his observation, he decided to change the subject. "So, how's Cantaloupe?"

"That was so thoughtful of you to ask about my wife. Why here comes that vision of loveliness now." Redd pointed to an approaching woman who was as tall and lean as Redd. Fred had never met Cantaloupe before, having only heard the occasional bit about her, so he was finding himself looking forward to meeting her. Up close, she looked normal enough. Normal amount of arms, legs, heads and the like. She was dressed moderately but nicely, typical for a semi-formal occasion such as this. She was even kind of pretty, a rarity for the Smith family tree.

"Hi, Cantaloupe," Fred grinned, "I'm Redd's cousin, Fred." He held out his hand to shake hers.

Instead of offering her own hand, she pulled a pink dictation pad from her purse, flipped through the pages until she found just the right one. She began to read, excitedly, over-exaggerating some words. "**Hello **(person's name here). I am so **happy **to meet Redd's (relation of person to husband)."

Fred stared blankly for a moment, then realization dawned. "Wait a minute, aren't you Aunt Bertha's daughter?"

Cantaloupe flipped through her notepad to a different page. "**Yes**, I **am **Bertha's daughter from her 53rd husband. That's right, the one who was dead 6 months before they met. **How **could that **be**? Allow me to explain..."

Fred really did not want to know. "Oh no, thats OK. I'm going to go mingle now."

Redd took the lenses off his face, reducing his eyes to tiny pinpricks, cleaned them on his canary yellow tie and returned them. Wow, Fred had no idea Redd was so blind. Cantaloupe turned to another page in her pad. "It was **nice **to see you again (**person's name here**). Let's keep in touch."

"Yeah, lets do that." Fred was thoroughly creped out. What was up with using a pink notebook anyway?

There were several options for descending to the main floor of the ballroom from the entry level. There were 2 slides, water slide or corkscrew slide. Bungee cord, fireman's pole or jumping into a vat of Jell-o. Since the line for the Jell-o jump was really long, Fred just opted to take the stairs. As he turned to do just that, Fred fell over the center handrail and rather dramatically fell down the stairs. Fortunately, the Smith's employed the best medical practitioners in the galaxy. It was only a matter of minutes before they had Fred back on his feet.

Fred had only made a few steps when he ran smack dab into weird Uncle Gravel. Gravel was not his real name, in fact, no one could even remember his real name. He had gotten the nickname because he suffered from an ultra rare condition where rocks spontaneously appeared in his mouth every time he opened it. Despite this, he and his wife, whose name could be compared to the sound a tire makes when it springs a leak, were the two most conceited Smith's of all. They were so conceited they had their noses moved to the top of their heads to make walking with their noses in the air easier. Fred said 'Hi', but they got offended and stomped off.

Next he ran into another Uncle, Bona Smith, or should I say, Uncle Bona ran into him. It was actually a good thing Fred was knocked to the floor, because looking at the diminutive Smith in the eye meant either sitting on the floor or bending over really, really far. Bona was fairly ordinary as far as Smiths went, he only had a wicked Napoleon complex.

"Hey, Uncle Bona." Fred said. "How goes the battle?" He regretted asking as soon as the words came out of his mouth.

"I have a-beaten back the enemy a-mayonnaise lines out of a-France." He explained.

"Great." Fred said, already bored. "And how is Aunt Cindy?"

"You mean Aunt a-Josephine!" He snapped. "She is a lousy a-wife."

"Oh." Fred said. "And little Josephine?"

"I could not find a suitable a-husband for my a-daughter." Uncle Bona went on. "So I had myself a-cloned." Right then, little Josephine walked up, holding the hand of a child so small she had to bend over to do it. The little guy wore an identical, yet miniature to Uncle Bona's, French generals uniform. "Meet Mini-Bona."

Fred looked down at Mini-Bona. "He looks like he's 6 months old."

"A-five to be exact." Uncle Bona corrected.

Mini-Bona walked up to Fred, standing so close to him that it seemed the tiny clone would climb into his lap at any moment. It was then that Mini-Bona began to speak in a clearly enunciated voice. "This and that with the thing-a-ma-jig put in the whats-it with a who-dinky..."

Fred's brow raised. "He really sounds like he knows his stuff."

"He had no clue." Uncle Bona admitted.

Little Josephine jumped in. "And I like him just like this!"

Fred was going to congratulate the happy couple but he was suddenly barraged with so much noise he couldn't hear himself think, let alone speak to be heard. It sounded like a thousand one sided conversations all going on at the same time. That could only be Aunt Gossip. Aunt Gossip was born with mouths of different sizes, all over her body. Each one capable of holding an independent conversation from the others. Fred knew that if he got caught by her that her armed enforcers would detain him until he had heard every mouth out. That could take months. Besides, the ones on her posterior had really bad breath.

He stood to flee and came face to face with Cousin Mel. To say that Mel had unruly hair was like saying Klingon's tended to get a bit grumpy now and then. Mel's hair was notorious for such things as spray-painting 'Mel's hair was here' on shuttle port walls, joy riding in stolen runabouts, putting thumbtacks on Captains chairs, and shaving peoples pet targs. Mel himself wore a simple 2 piece suit about 4 sizes too small. It was amazing how even though Mel was removed like 25 times, as cousins go, just having the name Smith still had its full effect.

"Hi Mel." Fred said, keeping his distance from the hair. "How's it going?"

"Blue." Mel said. That was the other thing about Mel. Everything he said almost, but not quite, made sense.

"I'm sorry to hear that ... I think." Fred said reluctantly. Fred suddenly found himself distracted by a set of ears standing above the crowd. Caitian ears. It was one of those surreal moments where the crowd seemed to part, making a clear path to her. In actuality, the crowd was lining up to River dance. Unfortunately, Fred didn't realize what was going on until he was half way down the line and the music started. He was trampled by Big Foot Betty Smith and Jimmy the Legs Smith.

It was almost 30 minutes before the Smith family doctors got Fred mobile again. Unfortunately, the sweet little Caitian was nowhere to be seen. But Mel was still around. "Hey Mel." Fred said, looking around. "Did you see where that Caitian lady went?"

Mel scratched his scalp. Apparently his unruly hair gotten their split ends on some itching powder. "Tuesday." He said.

Fred thought for a moment_. Today's Tuesday_. He reasoned that must be a yes. Next came the big question. "Is she a Smith, or a friend of the Smiths?"

Mel said very thoughtfully, "Too Harry."

_What could that mean? _Fred asked himself_. Too hairy to be a Smith? Maybe._ Just as he was about to ask for clarification, all the mouths of Gossip snapped, "Mel-_Vin_!" in unison. Mel dutifully trotted off.

Fred was right, she wasn't a Smith. He felt it in his gut, and his gut would be right this time, he knew it. He just had to find her again in this crowd. he racked his brain on how to do it, and then he saw the perfect way.

To be continued in:  
When Smith's Go Wild


	2. Chapter 2

the Adventures of Fred Smith / When Smiths Go Wild

Amongst Fred's many and wholly unique talents is that he has a truly remarkable singing voice. The thing was, it only applied to songs performed with regularity in Las Vegas. A few examples: Fred could do a flawless Elvis Presley, even down to the swagger and karate kicks. But only the songs Elvis performed in his Vegas shows. He could make every woman in any part of the universe swoon with his Frank Sinatra. However much Fred didn't like to admit it, drive every man in any part of the universe crazy with his Charo. So when Fred saw workmen setting up for the Smith family annual karaoke competition held at every reunion, he knew he would have to break out something extra special to catch the eye of the pretty Caitian visitor out there somewhere. He would do his Tom Jones.

_Whack!_ Fred got kicked so hard, he was lifted completely off the ground. _Whack! Whack!_ He got kicked two more times, both just as hard as the first. Fred turned to see what was happening, only to get kicked three more times. _Whack! Whack! Whack!_ The last one knocking him to the floor. The _Whack! Whack! … Whack! Whack!_ kicks were coming faster and faster, _Whack! Whack!_ and faster _Whack! Whack! Whack!_ now. _Whack!_ Fred saw two things before losing consciousness. First was Uncle Mel's unruly hair with a bunch of papers that said "Kick me if you're a Smith". Second, his parents who came initially to their son's aid, but upon seeing the paper on Fred's back, joined in with their fellow Smiths in kicking the snot out of their son. Don't ever let it be said that they didn't do what they were told.

Fred was just coming around as Great Grandpa Bernard was doing '2 legit 2 quit'. Fred wasn't too worried, they've always saved a spot in the show for him ever since he did Barbara Streisand's 'The way we were' when he was six. There wasn't a dry eye in the house that year.

As Fred came up onto the stage to join the other contestants, his foot caught a power cord, sending him hurtling into the audience. It was at this time that Fred experienced a rather odd situation. He was caught by the crowd underneath him. That had to be the first time anybody caught him. Fred realized this would be an experience he would repeat many times tonight as he was tossed back up into the air and caught by a completely different set of people. He, in fact, toured the entire ballroom in this manner, convinced that this had to be the most fun he'd had in years.

Fred's feet didn't touch the ground again until he was at the furthest point from the stage he could be and still be in the ballroom. He could have easily made his escape from here, but frankly, the thought hadn't crossed his mind. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen since the rabid Caitian incident on the Typhoid Mary, was in there. He was going in.

On his way through the crowd, Fred ran across Great Grandpa Peanut. He was holding the leash of a dog that had to be a good 10 feet tall. "Hey Grandpa Peanut." Fred said looking up, amazed at the huge canine. "Isn't that one of those Bolian Swamp Hounds?"

"Wah-wah. Wah-wah-wah…Wah-wha. Wah-wah." Grandpa Peanut said.

"I suppose you're right, it's not big enough. Oh, Oh! I know, is it a Ferengi Poodle?"

"Wah-wah-wah…Wah-wha." He said, kind of offended.

"Yeah, I forgot they were bred to not have ears." Fred said. "All right, I give up, what kind of dog is that?" Fred asked.

"Wah." Grandpa said.

"A Chihuahua!" Fred said, surprised. "I would have never guessed." He shrugged, turning to continue back to the stage.

He had navigated the crowd over half way to the stage without incident. When out of nowhere came a deafening "HIIIIIIIII-YAAAAAA!" The next thing Fred knew, he was flat on his back with the smallest Ninja he had ever seen, standing on his chest ready to attack.

"Hey, aren't you…" Was all Fred got out before the Ninja child leapt into the air with a fearsome battle cry. As the young master was about to land with the business end of a sword (wholly twice as long as he was) screaming down at Fred's head, he stopped. Yes, stopped. Floating in thin air. That was so cool! Fred was going to drink his fill of Caitian Tongue Ticklers and try that the first chance he got.

In reality, the boy had been grabbed by the back of his shirt by his mother. "You little monster!" The boy's mother exclaimed. The mom was Fred's niece, Gucci Smith. How she could be his niece he never knew, since he himself was an only child. She continued to cuss the boy out, "I ought to throw you down the garbage disposal." her bulbous bouffant swaying with every word. Gucci turned to Fred, looking him up and down through what had to be the most… unique pair of glasses. Ever. They put one in mind of being designed by blind autistic children with an advanced case of ADD. "Are you ok, Uncle Fred?" She asked, perched high atop a pair of platform heels.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Fred said, finishing a check of his body and waving the Smith doctors on. "How's your husband?" He said nonchalantly. He was actually quite interested, because Gucci was one of the few Smith's that didn't actually marry another Smith, something Fred himself had hoped to do someday.

Gucci put a hand on her hip and gestured past Fred. "Ask him yourself." She said, changing her glasses to a racy green number with red and yellow pinstripes.

Fred turned and stared straight into the chest of a very bad suit. _That's right_, Fred thought_, she married a Baphoon_. Fred pulled his head back as far as he could and grinned. "Hi Steve."

Steve grinned a big grin, teeth in every color of the rainbow filling his mouth. A gob of gooey greenish saliva hung in a string from his lip, growing longer as it stretched toward Fred's face. As contact with Baphoon saliva seemed imminent, Steve drew it back up with a loud Slurp! He laughed a kind of dopey bouncy laugh. "That was so funny!" he said quite clearly despite the large number of teeth in his mouth.

"Wow!" Fred said, surprised. "Your speech is really clear with all those teeth!"

Steve laughed more. Gucci handed him the Littlest Ninja, truly making a spectacle of herself in a pair of glasses with large up swept brows and completely covered in sequins. "He's been getting speech lessons from weird Uncle Gravel when he's not too offended." She explained. Steve held Ninja Boy by the back of the shirt. The pint-sized Ninja went into a crane stance just before kicking his father in the kisser. Disembodied teeth showered Fred and Gucci. Steve laughed as new teeth moved into place almost instantly.

"Could I borrow your boy for a minute?" Fred asked. Steve set the Ninja in front of Fred. "Is there any way you could help me get to the stage more quickly?" Fred asked the Littlest Ninja.

Ninja Boy nodded enthusiastically, drawing his sword. "Nothing lethal young man!" Gucci snapped, her specs now changed to an over sized pair of round hippie glasses with 3-D images of eyeballs in the lenses. The Littlest Ninja slumped, then drew two daggers. "So help me!" His Mom snapped angrily, "I will light you on fire in your sleep!" The boy slumped again, returned the daggers, then thought for a moment, rubbing his masked chin. He suddenly stiffened with inspiration , digging into a small pouch at his little hip, retrieving a small orb. Before his Mom had time to object, he raised it over his head and thrust it down, smashing it on the floor.

A thick smoke enveloped the Littlest Ninja, Gucci, Steve and Fred.

--

To be continued in:

Home again, home again, Smith jiggety jog.


	3. Chapter 3

Home again, Home again, Smith Jiggety Jog

As the smoke cleared, Fred found they were now on the stage. The whole room went silent with their sudden appearance. Uncle Bona, who was at the Mic doing a medley from Les Miserable, had gone silent. Even Steve, who always seemed to be in a dopey giggle had fallen into a silent awe.

Fred knelt before the Littlest Ninja. "That was so cool, Littlest Ninja, thank you." Fred put a hand on his shoulder. "Look me up when your turn 21, and we'll go out drinking." The Littlest Ninja bowed to Fred, then proffering a large fake mustache, stuck it on his Ninja mask about where his upper lip would be, before smashing another smoke ball and disappearing in its smoke.

Gucci, (now sporting a pair of lime green horn rimmed glasses with fake pink gemstones on the bows) none to happy with her son's disappearance, shouted—"So help me, if you don't get back here right now I will lock you in my underwear drawer!"

Gucci stomped off the stage and into the crowd, leaving Fred and Steve alone on the stage with Uncle Bona Smith. The crowd, seeing that Fred was on the stage, began to chant. "Bob! … Bob! … Bob!"

This had happened every year since he got announced as Bob when he was 13. Fred took the Mic from Bona—who then clicked his heels, saluted, and marched off the stage with his right hand shoved in his shirt about mid-way down.

Fred looked out into the audience, making a patting gesture with the hand holding the Mic and shading his eyes from the spotlight. "My name is Fred." He said in a monotone, knowing it would be Bob again next time he got kidnapped and forced to come to one of these.

The crowd fell silent for a moment, murmuring amongst themselves. They began to chant again. "Fred! … Fred! … Fred!"

Fred gave them the patting gesture again. "OK, OK, I'll sing. I just need about 15 minutes to get my song cued up and to get ready. So I'll leave you with …" Fred looked around. All the other contestants were gone. The only other person was, "… the comedic styling s of Steve the Baphoon!" The crowd went crazy, but for the second time today, Steve had quit giggling. Fred handed Steve the Mic. "Thanks Steve, I appreciate it." Fred patted the big Baphoon on the shoulder. The big Baphoon patted back, sending Fred hurtling off-stage.

Fred pulled himself from a pile of debris, shaking the dust from his hair, to the sound of Steve on the Mic. "And he's OK!" The crowd applauded.

At the sound booth, Fred walked up to a large book on a stand. The book was actually a list of pre-approved questions and comments to be used in conversing with Gramps Smith. You had to be careful, because if you by chance read one wrong, he would simply grumble one word. "Alright." In a very disgusted drawn out tone, then blast you with his laser vision. And we won't even go into what happens if you try to use something not in the book. This may sound harsh, but you should have seen him before he moved to Connecticut.

Fred opened to the 'formalities' page and selected one. "Hello, Gramps. How's life in Stepford treating you these days?"

An uncharacteristically evil grin spread across Gramps face. Despite this, he spoke in his usual low monotone. "Stepford just keeps getting better and better. And how are you, Fred?"

Fred turned to the 'answers' page. "I am just dandy, thank you for asking." Flipping to the 'continuing polite conversation' page, Fred continued. "And how is Grams?"

Gramps held out a liver spotted hand. "Here she comes now, you can see for yourself."

Fred turned to see a young, flawless Grams seemingly float into the room. Oh, wait a minute, she WAS floating. He could also see Steve as one of his punch-lines bombed.

"…a duck! Get it?" The crowd booed. "Oh come on, you know that was funny!"

Grams set a tray on a table, serving Fred and Gramps each a bologna sandwich, a bowl of Campbell's chicken noodle soup and a cup of steaming hot liquid. "Here you go, sweetheart, now eat up!" She said in a voice that flowed like silk.

Fred was in awe. "Wow Grams, is that really you? You look phenomenal!" He was right, she did look phenomenal considering that the last time he saw her she looked nearly as old as Gramps. But now she didn't appear much older than Fred.

"Oh, you really think so." She said somewhat mechanically. "Its so nice of you to notice." She looked down at his food, "Can I get you anything else?"

"No, no, this is great." In actuality, he didn't much like Campbell's chicken noodle soup. He liked bologna, especially fried bologna, about as much as he liked cherries in a cloud. He inspected the cup. "It was nice of you to make tea."

"Don't be silly, sweetheart," she said, tousling Fred's hair, "that's coffee. And you are so welcome." She stood with a lurch, a facial twitch, and an electrical buzz taking her over. Gramps whacked her over the head with his cane, and she regained her composure.

"Why don't you go plug yourself in or something." Gramps said.

Grams wandered off mumbling, "What nice young men. I'll have to knit them some socks."

Fred looked on stage. Steve was resorting to physical comedy, getting much bigger laughs. A little known fact about Baphoon physiology, is that their ear canal runs unencumbered all the way through their head. So in a very real sense, they have a hole in their head. Steve had delighted and amazed his audience by running the microphone cord back and forth through this canal.

As soon as Grams was out of sight, both men simultaneously dropped their food and coffee into the nearest trash before Gramps continued. "So, Fred, do you want to sing?"

Fred said, "Yes" then realized his error just in time to duck. Zap! He raised his head slowly, his cowlick smoldering. Patting out the smoke with one hand and turning pages with the other, Fred found the 'one word sentences' page. "Yes." Then, to make up for his indiscretion, turned to the 'gratitude' page. "I would like that very much." Then to the 'two word sentence' page. "Thank you."

Gramps turned a console to face Fred. "Ok, good. Just type your selection in here and you'll be good to go." Fred typed then returned the console to face Gramps. "This is an interesting choice." Gramps observed.

Turning to the 'talking about girls with a weird old man' page, Fred read, "I'm trying to impress a girl."

"OK, good. This song is strangely fitting, knowing your taste in girls." Gramps said. He put a hand on Fred's hand. "Now you better go, you're on in five."

As Fred approached the stage, he could see Steve was not only continuing with the cord through his ears, but also obtaining a similar effect with a snot string through his nostrils. He was getting even bigger laughs with that.

The audience, seeing Fred in the wings, began to call for Fred's song. Cheering when he walked on stage. Afraid of where he was going to have to run something through his body next, Steve retrieved the Mic from his ear and handed it to Fred. "Ladies and Gentlemen." Fred said, picking chunks of wax from the Mic. "Lets hear it for Steve the Baphoon!" The crowd exploded as Steve took a final bow and walked off stage.

A bright light show started as the music began. The vocals came from a different part of Fred's body for each person he imitated. Sammy Davis Jr. came from his kidneys, Cher came from his lower intestinal tract, and we won't go into where Sonny came from. Tom Jones was rising from just above Elvis. Everyone knows where Elvis is.

With the cue to sing, the voice leapt out. "What's new pussycat, woah woah. What's new pussycat, woah woah." He sang, his hair feeling more teased and volumized. "Pussycat pussycat, I've got flowers and lots of hours to spend with you. So go powder your cute little pussycat nose."

With the voice often came dance moves. This was no exception. Fred stood with his feet planted as far apart as possible and still remain standing, twisting his upper half back and forth to the music. It seemed to Fred like a bad cross between Elvis' later stuff, and the few shows Bruce Springsteen did in Vegas. He toned it down in the second verse. "Pussycat, pussycat. You're so thrilling and I'm so willing to care for you. So go make up your big little pussycat eyes."

Fred's eyes locked onto a pair of eyes, Caitian eyes that stood out in the crowd. They were looking back. Fred gave her his best gleaming white grin and beckoned her to come up on the stage. "Pussycat, pussycat. You're delicious and if my wishes can all come true, I'll be kissing your sweet little pussycat lips."

As Fred began the last few lines of the song, he could see her approaching the stage. _Yes, it worked!_ Fred thought excitedly. Unfortunately, Fred was so focused on his Caitian prize, that he didn't see that the entire Smith clan was rushing the stage with her.

What the Starfleet covert operations team that was running drills on the roof saw through the skylight was a lone Starfleet officer surrounded by thousands of possibly hostile individuals aggressively converging on his position. Already in full gear, the S.C.O.T burst through the roof, fought off the advancing hordes and extracted their fellow Starfleet officer.

A month later, Fred had finally gotten a posting. Unfortunately, his old position on the Vlad Tepish had been filled by two monkeys and a Saint Bernard named Skip. On his way to his new posting, Fred ran into his old friend.

"Kadik!" Fred yelled from across a shuttle bay.

"Fred, my friend!" A manly handshake ensued. "I heard about that thing on Baphoo. Man, that was wild. So, you did the song?"

Fred shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, I sang it."

"I thought you were saving it for that special Caitian girl." Kadik grinned, nudging Fred with his elbow.

"I thought I had found her." Fred frowned. "But the covert ops team extracted me before I could find out for sure."

"I bed we could find out who she was." Kadik said confidently. "You know, guest lists and stuff like that."

"No, I know who she is." Fred sighed. "That's not the problem."

"Then look her up!" Kadik was sounding optimistic.

"You see, my uncle Dirty Bum spent time on Cait." Fred sighed.

"NO!"

"Yes," Fred sighed again, "she's my cousin P'rrz."

The End


	4. Chapter 4

Playing With Fire--In Space With No Sickbay

Fred mourned, like mourning the loss of a dear friend. And in many ways, he was. He never felt so comfortable as when he was in a really good sickbay. To Fred, the loss of one was truly a tragedy.

Bubba came and put a consoling arm around Fred, tenderly patting his shoulder, then said, "Get over it, ya wus!"

This brought Fred back to his senses. "You're right, I need to get my act together." He pulled a small devise from his pocket, not much larger thana matchbox, held it out in front of him and pressed a button.

A jittery little man resolved, visibly startled. "AAAH!" His red rimmed eyes darted around the room. "Wha…What's going on!? What happened?! Fred! Are you OK?! CLEAR THE SICK BAY!"

"What is that?" Bubba asked.

Fred momentarily turned from trying to calm down the hologram. "He's my personal EMH." He turned back to his EMH. "No, no, everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" The EMH panted nervously. He grabbed a tricorder and scanned Fred for everything. "Because I'm feeling light-headed. Hey, is there enough air in here?!"

"There's enough air." Fred reassured the hologram. "Everything is fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You're not injured?"

"No, I'm not injured."

"Positive?"

"Positive."

"OK." The EMH sighed, then started to panic again, "Why did you activate me?! There must be something wrong!"

"I just wanted to tell you something." Fred explained.

"Tell me something?" The EMH looked horrified. "You're not upgrading me again, are you?! Because you remember what happened last time?"

"I thought you would want to know that we have no sickbay." Fred tried to say as non-chalantly as possible. It didn't work.

"NO SICK BAY!" The EMH panicked. "It … uh … blew up."

The EMH paled. Fred helped him to a sitting position. "Oh my ulcer." The EMH moaned, clutching his stomach. "So, we have no bio-beds?"

"Not a one."

"No dermal regenerators." Fred shook his head. "How about those band-aids you like with Woody the Woodpecker on them?" Fred grinned, pulling a box out of his pocket and handing it to the EMH. The EMH smiled. "All is not lost."

In the background, a crewman could be heard asking, "What does EMH stand for again?

Another answered, "I think in this case, it stands for Emergency Medical Hypochondriac."

Fred turned on the two. "Be nice, he's been through a lot." He turned back to his EMH. The EMH was staring at him for a moment before Fred realized he wasn't doing a very good job at stifling his own laugh. "You gotta admit, it was pretty funny." The EMH have up a reluctant smile.

Bubba walked up to Fred and his EMH. "Don't mind those two, they were stationed on Clow a few years back, and they've thought of themselves as Clowns ever since."

"They wish they were Clowns," the EMH cried. "the big meanies."

"Why don't you guys join me, we're going to have a crew talent show later." Bubba said, "It's going to be starting soon."

"Is it safe?" The EMH's voice quavered. "Because with no sickbay I won't be able to treat any of Fred's injuries." He thought for a moment. "Maybe we should use…"

"Don't even go there." Fred cut in.

"Well, the Safety Suit would make my job easier. Then maybe I could finally get rid of this tension headache."

Fred grimaced. "We don't have the Safety Suit, and even if we did, it's too small." He turned to Bubba to change to a less painful topic. "We would be happy to attend the talent show. But first, would it be too much to ask if I could put something on the crew wall?"

"Go ahead." Bubba smiled. "Feel free."

Fred replicated a poster from his favorite movie, the Caitian remake of Mr. & Mrs. Smith, where Catalena Jolie showed Brad Kitt how Catian women are truly pointed on five ends. He hung it next to the Captain's family portrait, where Gucci -quite the adventurer- was in a pair of aviator goggles. "Ouch."

"OOOOOOH!" The EMH leapt to his feet. "OH-OOOH!" The next thing Fred knew, he was flat on his back. "OK! OK! OK! Um… Preserve live! … Check pulse!" A finger jammed hard in Fred's neck.

"Hey … um…" Fred tried to get out.

"Don't bother me." The EMH screamed shakily. "I'm trying to save your life!"

"But it's only a paper cut!"

"A … paper cut?"

"Yes, just a tiny little paper cut." Fred held up a finger to show a cut so insignificant that the tiny amount of bleeding had already stopped. This, however, hadn't stopped the EMH from encasing his finger in half a dozen Woody the Woodpecker band-aids before he would allow Fred to sit up, let alone stand.

He just had one more thumbtack to finish hanging the poster when he saw that in the portrait, Gucci wasn't wearing any glasses at all. Fred didn't think that there had ever been a time when he hadn't seen her in glasses. He moved in for a closer look.

Bubba, also noticing the oddity in the photo began to investigate more thoroughly. "Now that is strange."

Fred smiled as it dawned on him. "Contact lenses!"

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think that the red and white hypno-swirlies are natural." Fred explained. "But with our family, it's hard to say for sure." He was still so distracted that it took several seconds to register that he had put the last thumb tack through his thumb. He tried to hide it from the EMH, but it was too late. Fred just held out the offending tack, hoping not to duplicate the paper cut fiasco. It didn't work.

An hour and ten Woody the Woodpecker bandages later, the EMH declared in horror, "We're out of band-aids.:

Fred bowed his head in shame and embarrassment as he pulled a box from his pocket, offering it reluctantly to the EMH.

"What is this?"

Scrunching his eyes shut, trying to wish the whole situation away, Fred admitted, "My Little Pony." With that bit of good news, Fred's EMH reluctantly allowed Fred to attend the ships talent show.

Fred and the EMH were ushered to seats of distinction, front row center. The seats they were shown weren't even seats. They were containers of rocket fuel, there were rows and rows. Enough for the entire crew to sit on. The stage was also made from the containers of fuel pushed together to make one big flat surface.

The entertainment started off light, with a tap-dancing woman. She was good, so good that Fred almost didn't notice the sparks raining down on the impromptu stage from the sparklers she held in each hand. Fred was about to say something when he realized who he was sitting next to. Considering the fragile stat of his EMH's nerves, it was probably better not to say anything.

Once he didn't care about blowing up, Fred found he enjoyed the show much more. The fire juggling was great and when the two lieutenants jumped their motorcycles through the blazing rings, he was absolutely speechless. It was during the shows finale, an amateur pyrotechnics display that Fred was informed that they had docked with the Fastidious.

After the show, Fred and his EMH were escorted to an air lock .No little amount of relief filled Fred as he once again entered a ship with proper medical facilities. He said his goodbyes to Captain Bubba and the door began to close. It stuck in the nearly shut position. The hydraulics strained but it did not budge.

"Come one everybody," Fred said, eager to please, "let's push." Pretty soon, with a lot of effort the door began to move. The metal screeched and howled, but it finally locked into place.

KABOOM!

"What was that?!"

Fred put his ear to the airlock door. "I think the door closing set off some of the rocket fuel."

He listened some more. He could just make out Captain Bubba's voice. "Just put some water around it."

"It's going to be ok." Fred reassured everyone.

"Oh look," Someone said, "You've got a sliver in your hand."

Sure enough. It was a tiny little thing there in his palm. The EMH lunged with My Little Pony band-aids at the ready. "Computer!" Fred shouted, "Deactivate EMH!"

The End


	5. Chapter 5

The Adventures Of Fred Smith / Playing With Fire--In Space With No Sickbay

Fred mourned, like mourning the loss of a dear friend. And in many ways, he was. He never felt so comfortable as when he was in a really good sickbay. To Fred, the loss of one was truly a tragedy.

Bubba came and put a consoling arm around Fred, tenderly patting his shoulder, then said, "Get over it, ya woos!"

This brought Fred back to his senses. "You're right, I need to get my act together." He pulled a small devise from his pocket, not much larger than a matchbox, held it out in front of him and pressed a button.

A jittery little man resolved, visibly startled. "AAAH!" His red rimmed eyes darted around the room. "Wha…What's going on!? What happened?! Fred! Are you OK?! CLEAR THE SICK BAY!"

"What is that?" Bubba asked.

Fred momentarily turned from trying to calm down the hologram. "He's my personal EMH." He turned back to his EMH. "No, no, everything is fine."

"Are you sure?" The EMH panted nervously. He grabbed a tri-corder and scanned Fred for everything. "Because I'm feeling light-headed. Hey, is there enough air in here?!"

"There's enough air." Fred reassured the hologram. "Everything is fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"You're not injured?"

"No, I'm not injured."

"Positive?"

"Positive."

"OK." The EMH sighed, then started to panic again, "Why did you activate me?! There must be something wrong!"

"I just wanted to tell you something." Fred explained.

"Tell me something?" The EMH looked horrified. "You're not upgrading me again, are you?! Because you remember what happened last time?"

"I thought you would want to know that we have no sickbay." Fred tried to say as nonchalantly as possible. It didn't work.

"NO SICK BAY!" The EMH panicked. "It … uh … blew up."

The EMH paled. Fred helped him to a sitting position. "Oh my ulcer." The EMH moaned, clutching his stomach. "So, we have no bio-beds?"

"Not a one."

"No dermal regenerators." Fred shook his head. "How about those band-aids you like with Woody the Woodpecker on them?" Fred grinned, pulling a box out of his pocket and handing it to the EMH. The EMH smiled. "All is not lost."

In the background, a crewman could be heard asking, "What does EMH stand for again?

Another answered, "I think in this case, it stands for Emergency Medical Hypochondriac."

Fred turned on the two. "Be nice, he's been through a lot." He turned back to his EMH. The EMH was staring at him for a moment before Fred realized he wasn't doing a very good job at stifling his own laugh. "You gotta admit, it was pretty funny." The EMH have up a reluctant smile.

Bubba walked up to Fred and his EMH. "Don't mind those two, they were stationed on Clow a few years back, and they've thought of themselves as Clowns ever since."

"They wish they were Clowns," the EMH cried. "the big meanies."

"Why don't you guys join me, we're going to have a crew talent show later." Bubba said, "It's going to be starting soon."

"Is it safe?" The EMH's voice quavered. "Because with no sickbay I won't be able to treat any of Fred's injuries." He thought for a moment. "Maybe we should use…"

"Don't even go there." Fred cut in.

"Well, the Safety Suit would make my job easier. Then maybe I could finally get rid of this tension headache."

Fred grimaced. "We don't have the Safety Suit, and even if we did, it's too small." He turned to Bubba to change to a less painful topic. "We would be happy to attend the talent show. But first, would it be too much to ask if I could put something on the crew wall?"

"Go ahead." Bubba smiled. "Feel free."

Fred replicated a poster from his favorite movie, the Caitian remake of Mr. & Mrs. Smith, where Catalena Jolie showed Brad Kitt how Catian women are truly pointed on five ends. He hung it next to the Captain's family portrait, where Gucci -quite the adventurer- was in a pair of aviator goggles. "Ouch."

"OOOOOOH!" The EMH leapt to his feet. "OH-OOOH!" The next thing Fred knew, he was flat on his back. "OK! OK! OK! Um… Preserve live! … Check pulse!" A finger jammed hard in Fred's neck.

"Hey … um…" Fred tried to get out.

"Don't bother me." The EMH screamed shakily. "I'm trying to save your life!"

"But it's only a paper cut!"

"A … paper cut?"

"Yes, just a tiny little paper cut." Fred held up a finger to show a cut so insignificant that the tiny amount of bleeding had already stopped. This, however, hadn't stopped the EMH from encasing his finger in half a dozen Woody the Woodpecker band-aids before he would allow Fred to sit up, let alone stand.

He just had one more thumbtack to finish hanging the poster when he saw that in the portrait, Gucci wasn't wearing any glasses at all. Fred didn't think that there had ever been a time when he hadn't seen her in glasses. He moved in for a closer look.

Bubba, also noticing the oddity in the photo began to investigate more thoroughly. "Now that is strange."

Fred smiled as it dawned on him. "Contact lenses!"

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think that the red and white hypno-swirlies are natural." Fred explained. "But with our family, it's hard to say for sure." He was still so distracted that it took several seconds to register that he had put the last thumb tack through his thumb. He tried to hide it from the EMH, but it was too late. Fred just held out the offending tack, hoping not to duplicate the paper cut fiasco. It didn't work.

An hour and ten Woody the Woodpecker bandages later, the EMH declared in horror, "We're out of band-aids.:

Fred bowed his head in shame and embarrassment as he pulled a box from his pocket, offering it reluctantly to the EMH.

"What is this?"

Scrunching his eyes shut, trying to wish the whole situation away, Fred admitted, "My Little Pony." With that bit of good news, Fred's EMH reluctantly allowed Fred to attend the ships talent show.

Fred and the EMH were ushered to seats of distinction, front row center. The seats they were shown weren't even seats. They were containers of rocket fuel, there were rows and rows. Enough for the entire crew to sit on. The stage was also made from the containers of fuel pushed together to make one big flat surface.

The entertainment started off light, with a tap-dancing woman. She was good, so good that Fred almost didn't notice the sparks raining down on the impromptu stage from the sparklers she held in each hand. Fred was about to say something when he realized who he was sitting next to. Considering the fragile stat of his EMH's nerves, it was probably better not to say anything.

Once he didn't care about blowing up, Fred found he enjoyed the show much more. The fire juggling was great and when the two lieutenants jumped their motorcycles through the blazing rings, he was absolutely speechless. It was during the shows finale, an amateur pyrotechnics display that Fred was informed that they had docked with the Fastidious.

After the show, Fred and his EMH were escorted to an air lock .No little amount of relief filled Fred as he once again entered a ship with proper medical facilities. He said his goodbyes to Captain Bubba and the door began to close. It stuck in the nearly shut position. The hydraulics strained but it did not budge.

"Come one everybody," Fred said, eager to please, "let's push." Pretty soon, with a lot of effort the door began to move. The metal screeched and howled, but it finally locked into place.

KABOOM!

"What was that?!"

Fred put his ear to the airlock door. "I think the door closing set off some of the rocket fuel."

He listened some more. He could just make out Captain Bubba's voice. "Just put some water around it."

"It's going to be ok." Fred reassured everyone.

"Oh look," Someone said, "You've got a sliver in your hand."

Sure enough. It was a tiny little thing there in his palm. The EMH lunged with My Little Pony band-aids at the ready. "Computer!" Fred shouted, "Deactivate EMH!"

The End


	6. Chapter 6

The Adventures Of Fred Smith / Fred Cleans Up His Act

Fred was met at the Fastidious' airlock door by it's chief engineer. "Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii." He said slowly, hanging the word on its 'I' for just long enough to be weird before going on. "I'm Lieutenant Jerry." His tone was nasally and breathy at the same time. Fred was only four words into this conversation and the hair was already standing up on the back of his neck. "But you can just call me Jerry. you see, my full name is Jerry J. Jerry. The third. Strangely enough, this explained the patch stitched on the engineer's uniform which declared simply enough, "Jerry".

"So," Fred said smiling, "what does the 'J' stand for?"

"Jeeeeeeerryyyyyyy." He hung on both the 'E' and the 'Y' really weird. Fred was sorry he asked. "So I suppose you must be the new Lieutenant Commander."

"Lieutenant Commander?" Fred asked.

"Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." That 'A' went on forever. "Nothing important ever happens on a garbage scow, so Starfleet put a Lieutenant Commander in charge." He punctuated this statement with another "Yeah."

"Great." Fred grinned. "Let's go see the Lieutenant Commander." He followed Jerry to the turbo lift. Stepping across the thresh hold of the turbo lift a strange thing happened. A strange thing unless your name is Fred Smith.

With a loud 'PISH' the door slammed shut, pinning Fred in its grasp. "Ffff tsnt tooooo mtch tooooo ask, kd oo pls gt meeeee out oof hr..."

"Excuse me," the chief engineer droned. "Did you say something?"

Fred tried to take a breath, couldn't, and tried to start again. "Pleeeeeeeease geeeeeet meeee ouuuut oooof hheeeerre."

"Yeah, I suppose I could do that." Jerry thought for a moment, clicking his tongue. "The important thing is not to panic. Yeah, don't panic, that's important. Because if I did panic, I would probably open this panel here..." He opened the panel. "...and pull this lever right here..." He pulled the lever and the door opened. Fred slumped, filling his lungs with air. "...But if I did that, it would void the turbo lift warranty." Jerry threw the lever back up and closed the panel, slamming Fred in the door again. "We don't want to void the warranty, that would be bad...yeah."

Jerry slid a ceiling tile back, revealing a series of isolinear chips. "Now if I was a low level engineer, I would move this chip here, and this chip over here, and ... shove a paper clip ... here..." The door opened, dropping Fred to his knees. "...Yeah. But I'm not a low level engineer."

The door closed just as Fred staggered to his feet. "Yeah... I could do it better than that." Jerry suctioned a small device to the door frame. "Now, I could open it with one of these." The door hissed open with a sequence of buttons. Poor Fred just seemed to stick to the door frame. "But the batteries in this panel take forever to charge so... yeah... I don't want to use it unless I absolutely have to." The door closed on Fred again.

Unconsciousness was coming. Fred could tell, because the tiny Caitian women were back, bounding around his head. The door opened and closed several more times and then he was out.

Fred was having a delightful dream, or would it be trauma induced hallucination? It was that a lovely Caitian woman was curled up behind him, one arm draped over his shoulder. It was then that Fred came to a startling realization. He was awake and had been for the better part of 10 minute, but there was still an arm draped over his shoulder. He opened his eyes. The arm was in a Starfleet uniform, red stripes on the cuff. An old wrinkled, liver spotted hand protruded from the sleeve. Fred rolled over on the biobed, coming face to face with an older man looking back at him.

"Hello Lieutenant Smith." He said in a deep gravely voice. "I'm Lieutenant Commander McFeely." Fred fell off the biobed, onto his head.

When Fred recovered from his mild concussion, he had just enough time to take a quick stroll around the ship before reporting for duty. Engineering looked about like any engineering bay on any ship except for one small thing. Well, I guess it's not really a small thing, really. Its just that the warp core looks strangely enough like a huge trash can. It was even galvanized and had two dents in one side. The lid sat askew a rotten banana peel hung over the lip. "Wow, what is that?"

Jerry turned to Fred, "That's the Ewwwwwwww drive. Yeah."

"The Ewwww drive?"

"Yeah. Instead of working on dilithium crystals, it taps into how revolted the crew are collectively, you know, how repulsed they feel at any given time. Starfleet could only make it work in the Fastidious, and only up to Gross Factor Two at that."

"That's so amazing that you can power ships with how disgusted people are."

"Yeah. It would be great if we could make it faster." Fred was curious and wanted to learn more but was called to the Lieutenant Commander's ready room.

Lieutenant Commander McFeely's ready room was an uncomfortable space. The seating was fiberglass bucket seats in rows, alternating orange and white in color. The walls were papered in a large flower pattern in varying shades of brown, and the carpet and olive green shag that just buried your feet. The most noticeable thing however, was that everything was so incredibly clean. It was beyond hygienically clean, it all glowed, every surface just glowed.

Fred was met at the door. "Weeeeell hello Fred." McFeely said in a deep tone that would make one think he was simultaneously clenching his teeth, burying his chin in his chest and forcing his lips out as far as they could go. "I can call you Fred, can't I?" He wasn't letting go of Fred's hand. In fact, McFeely seemed to be petting Fred's forearm. The ship jumped ahead half a Gross Factor faster.

"You can call me Fred." He said, trying to make the best of things.

McFeely led Fred to one of the chairs. "I certainly hope you don't hold that concussion against me, Fred. If you do, I'll make it up to you."

Fred tried his hardest to remain composed as McFeely sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. "No, that sort of thing happens to me occasionally." Fred meant a lot. He still felt like he had to make a good impression. That was, until McFeely sat in Fred's lap. The ship accelerated.

"Well, that's good. That's really good." McFeely tousled Fred's hair, and patted his cheek. Faster still. "Because I surely wouldn't want my second to be upset at me."

"Second... Sir?"

"Yes Fred, you're my new second in command, and we'll be working very closely together." McFeely said, putting a hand on each of Fred's cheeks. The Fastidious leapt forward.

Fred began stuttering his answer, but was interrupted as Jerry ran into the room out of breath. "Sirs, sirs! Yeah, we're now traveling at Gross Factor Three!"

To Be Continued In:

Fred Joins the Dark Side


	7. Chapter 7

The Adventures Of Fred Smith / Fred Joins the Dark Side

Second in command... It did make a certain amount of sense, I guess. Strangely enough, Fred was probably one of the most qualified beings in Starfleet to see to the operations of a garbage scow. You see, when he was in Starfleet Academy, Fred gravitated toward the lesser attended classes. These classes included such things as Garbology 101, Anatomy of Compost 328, The Stinky Stuff, which was taught in two parts, Number One and Number Two, and Garbage Scow Operations For Fun and Profit, 10,000,000. (It was taught by an exchange professor from the University of Ferenginar. Cha Ching!)

Anyway, Fred had a lot of time to get used to the idea as he recoverd from the burns. It happened Fred's first day working in the holds. Every day the garbage needed to be sorted, the stinky garbage from the smelly garbage, the drippy garbage from the runny garbage, the rotten garbage from the decaying trash.

And when they weren't sorting the stuff, they were moving it around. The gooey garbage had to be moved to storage bay 4. But the leaky garbage, which was in storage bay 4 first, needed to be moved to the mess hall. The mess hall garbage would then be moved to storage bay 7. Then the gooey garbage had to be moved back to storage bay 12, where it started, to make room for Lieutenant Commander McFeely's collection of Barbara Streisand albums.

It was all hands on deck, or in the holds, as the case may be, all except for Lieutenant Commander McFeely. Today Fred was working with the chief navigation officer, Lieutenant Du'ann Bonet. Fred introduced himself, "Hi, I'm Fred Smith."

"Now, what?"

"I'm Fred Smith." Fred said enunciating slowly.

"Let me see if I have this straight." Du'ann said, thinking deeply on Fred's words. "You're saying that I'm ... Fred Smith?"

"No, no." Fred pointed to himself. "I'm Lieutenant Fred Smith." He then pointed to Du'ann. "You're Du'ann Bonet."

"I thought I was Du'ann Bonet."

"Yes, you are." Fred said, feeling like he might be making some headway. Then he blew it. "...And I'm Fred Smith."

"The Federation Starship Fred Smith?" Du'ann questioned. "I thought we were on the Fastidious?"

Fred was distracted for a moment at the idea of a starship named after himself. "Cool." He was about to try it again when Jerry walked in and handed Du'ann a post it note.

After reading the note very carefully, Du'ann said, "So you're Fred, it's nice to meet you. I'm Du'ann Bonet."

Jerry cut in to explain, "You see, whenever you talk to Du'ann he just doesn't get what you're saying. Yeah, its bad. But if you write it down, he gets it right away. It's better that way. Yeah. He's a great pilot though, so, yeah, we deal with it."

Fred took a post it note and wrote, "So, how are you today?" He added a smiley face just for fun.

"I don't know." Du'ann said, screwing his face up in thought. "Let me check my palm pilot." With that Du'ann pulled out a rather elaborate clicky pen that wrote in dozens of fun colors and began inspecting the finely printed script that covered his left hand, up his arm and onto his shoulder, for the pertinent information. Fred saw that this may take a while, so he got to work.

As Fred worked he was amazed at what some people threw out. Within a few minutes, some rare old coins, a coil of bare copper wire and a really cool old set of keys had made their way into Fred's pocket. And then his big find, a couple of old power cells. Nine volt! They were in great shape. He was sure that he could get a charge back into them. Into his pocket they went. To make a long story short, those 9 volt power cells weren't as empty as Fred had thought. there was just enough juice in those power cells to ground against the coins, the wire and the keys. Where there's smoke, there's fire, and there was plenty of smoke.

When Fred was released from sick bay the following week, he was greeted by Jerry and Du'ann with bad news. It seemed that Lieutenant Commander McFeely, in making more room for his extensive array of bad toupee's had not only ordered that their quarters be filled with garbage, but Fred's as well. Of course, McFeely hadn't even helped, but gave a long winded speech about how after his years of service, he deserved this.

Fred generally liked people and had come to be fond of Jerry and Du'ann. But McFeely had gone too far. A grin grew across Fred's face, a dark mischievous grin.

Fred turned to Jerry. "Your old quarters are one deck below Lieutenant Commander McFeely's, aren't they?"

"Yeah." Jerry gave a nasally sigh. "Right below his in fact. He played his Barbara Streisand albums all night. It was bad. That was until he had my quarters filled with garbage." He sighed again. "Yeah. I wish he would have let me get my stuff out first. Now I bunk with Du'ann. It's not all bad though, he shares his hair care products with me. Yeah."

There had been something odd about the two that Fred hadn't been able to put his finger on, at least until now. They had matching hair. It was a feathered, highly lacquered bubble on their heads. It looked like a hair helmet.

Du'ann piped up. "Our hair is rated to keep our heads safe in a collision of Gross Factor 2 or less, and I'm fine, thank you for asking."

"Gentlemen," Fred said, his evil grin widening. "what do you say we send McFeely into Jerry's quarters to get his stuff?" The two men stared at each other, then at Fred, both times in disbelief. "I suppose I could order you, but it would be so much more fun if you wanted to."

"Oh, we want to!" The two agreed after the plan was laid out on a series of color coordinated post it notes. "We want to, yeah."

An hour later, everything ws set. Fred, Du'ann and McFeely were on the bridge, and Jerry was nowhere to be found. An alarm sounded, a truly unusual thing to happen on the bridge of a garbage scow.

"Well, what on earth is that?" McFeely said, chin in chest, lips puckered, speaking as if he were a android being slowly powered up.

"It's an alarm, Sir." Ferd said, trying hard to keep a straight face.

McFeely threw his arms around Fred, giving him a big hug that lasted just a bit too long for comfort. The ship picked up half a Gross Factor. "Thank you for that astute obeservation, Fred." McFeely said, still not quite letting go of Fred. "But why is it going off?"

Fred asked Du'ann in the usual manner, a post it note. Du'ann recited his lines perfectly. "Structural integrity is failing on deck 2, section 7. A hull breach is imminent."

"Deck 2, section 7?" McFeely asked himself. "Deck 2... section 7..."

That would be your quarters, Sir." Fred said.

McFeely was too focused to listen. "Deck 2, section 7." He cursed himself for never learning where things were.

"Sir, that is your quarters." Fred said with a bit more emphasis.

"Deck ... 2 ... section ... 7 ..." He said with frustration. Why didn't he know this? He couldn't know everything about the ship, he consoled himself. He had only been in charge of the Fastidious for 57 years.

"Your quarters!" Fred yelled. "It's your quarters!" Fred slumped in his seat in his own frustration.

"Oh, I know!" McFeely grumbled more enthusiastically. "I'll look at a map." One look at the map sent McFeely staggering to his feet. "My quarters!"

McFeely grabbed Fred's hand, intertwining his bony old liver spotted fingers with Fred's. The ship jumped forward. "Come on, Fred, we've got to save Barbara Streisand!" With that Fred was jerked out of his chair, drug across the floor and slammed into the back wall of the turbo lift.

No sooner had Fred regained enough sense to attempt to stand, when the turbo lift door opened on deck 2. Fred was yanked out and down the hall. "Yentl! I'm coming! Yentl!" Mcfeely shouted in anguished horror, well as much anguished horror as he could anyway. Fred had a new thought. "What if McFeely drug him all the way into his quarters?" He had to stay out in the corridor, or he would suffer the same fate. Fortunately, McFeely dropped Fred to unlock his door and ran inside alone.

"Jerry, now!" Fred said with a tap to his comm badge.

Just as McFeely got to the center of the room, the floor disappeared. "Now Fred," McFeely yelled, buried up to his neck in rotten garbage, "I seem to be trapped."

"Sure enough." Fred said, the two others joining him.

"I really need you to get me out of here, Fred."

As if on cue, or maybe it was on cue, the red alert sounded. "It seems we're under attack ... so we're going to take care of it quick. But don't worry, we'll be back as soon as it's over." The three walked away closing the door to McFeely's protests. No sooner did they get to the bridge, than the floor shook them off their feet. "What was that?!"

"We're under attack!"

Fred Smith will return in Fred Saves The Day


	8. Chapter 8

The Adventures Of Fred Smith / Fred Saves the Day

People's view of garbage had changed dramatically with the invention of the replicator. You see, replicators take garbage, breaks it down into its most basic components, and rebuilds it into that new shirt, glass of milk, that bowl of custard you've been craving, or whatever you ask it to make for you.

So, seemingly overnight, garbage went from something that you … well … throw out, to something people keep, even horde. On the Bolian home world, every child has a garbage swilling piggy bank, and in the Ferengi stock market, garbage futures are traded right along with pork bellies and frozen concentrated orange juice.

Needless to say, garbage has become extremely valuable. So valuable, in fact, that it has led some to a life of crime. Like the folks attacking the Fastidious right now. "Who is attacking us?!" Fred asked.

"It's garbage pirates. Yeah."

"Take evasive action, Du'ann!" Fred ordered.

Du'ann stood up, after thinking for a moment. "Where do you want me to take it?"

"Take what?! … Oh yeah." Fred scribbled the order on a post-it note.

"Why didn't you say so in the first place." Du'ann slid into his seat. "Alright." He said hesitantly. How do I get this thing off auto pilot?"

Jerry went to activate the console, but Du'ann stopped him. "No, no. I can do it." With that, Du'ann pulled an enormous three ring binder from under his seat, flipped through the pages until he found the right one, then he began. "All right. First you push the manual control button." He pressed the button. "Check. Ok, next…" He read the next entry line in the instructions. "End…End?..Oh, OK."

Du'ann went to turn the Fastidious out of the pirates line of fire, but it was too late. The weapons impact jarred the ship, throwing everyone to the floor.

"Status report." Fred said.

"All systems are fine, yeah… but we're only going Gross factor 0.5 and dropping. That's bad, …yeah."

"Why are we going so slow?" Fred asked with no little panic.

"We're almost out of Gross energy, I guess everyone's too scared to be grossed out. Yeah."

Fred turned on the internal communications system. "Attention all crew. This is Commander Smith. I just wanted to let you know that everything is under control." He looked at Jerry. Jerry shook his head. "In fact, things are going so well I'm just sitting here picking my nose." Jerry nodded, holding his fingers apart slightly, signifying that they had gained a little. "And eating it." Fred didn't have to look at Jerry for a progress report, he felt the sudden increase in speed. He knew he could get more. "Yes, I'm having a pick…nic."

Jerry was about to tell Fred that they had hit Gross Factor 2.5, faster than the Fastidious had ever gone before, when his train of thought was changed. "They're firing again, Sir." It was too late. The ship was struck again, sending the crew back to the floor.

"How's our speed?" Fred asked, pulling himself into the command chair again.

"It's bad, Sir. Yeah. Really bad." Jerry lamented.

"All right. All right." Fred said, racking his brain for a plan. "What do we have for weapons?"

"Yeah. We don't have any."

"What do you mean, we don't have any?!"

"We were going to get some the other day, but they diverted them to a ship that runs off of flatulence or something." Jerry thought distractedly for a moment. "A ship that runs of flatulence … that's really weird. Yeah."

"So what you're saying is that we don't have so much as a tractor beam to defend ourselves with?"

"Noooooo, we have tractor beams." Jerry smiled with a sense of pride. "We have the best tractor beams in Starfleet. Yeah. We use them to pick up space garbage."

A plan started to form in Fred's brain, and with it, his grin. "Bring us about!" Fred ordered on a post-it note.

"But, Sir," Du'ann questioned, "at this speed they'll certainly catch us."

"Just turn the ship around." Fred wrote, "and leave the speed to me." Fred slammed his hand down on the intercom button. "Attention all crew. Lieutenant Commander McFeely just informed me that he wants to get to know you all a whole lot better." The ship jumped forward as the crew gave a collective shudder.

"Yeah. They're firing again." Jerry droned. "And it's going to be bad. Really bad. Yeah."

Fred was thrown from his seat, into the navigation station, the science station, the ceiling, the walls, and a half-dozen or so other things (frankly I lost count) before he came to rest on the floor.  
There must have been a brief period of unconsciousness involved. Two things led Fred to this conclusion. First was the state of euphoria that comes whenever those two tiny Caitian women prance around his head, and the other was Jerry and Du'ann frantically shaking Fred, shouting, "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Oh." Fred groaned. "That was crazy wasn't it?"

"Yeah. That was crazy." Jerry reported in confusion. "Especially since they missed."

"I'm sorry." Fred said, pulling himself back to his feet." I couldn't help myself."

On the main screen was what Fred had been looking for. Dead ahead was a large section of deck plating floating out in space as it rotated slightly in zero gee. A couch and a chair came into view, and soon came what Fred needed for his plan, the Streisand collection.

Fred handed an ensign his wallet. "Here, put this on every screen, monitor and work station in the ship."

"Aye, Sir." The ensign took the wallet and ran off to get to work.

Next, Fred wrote out a detailed course for Du'ann on a series of post-it notes arranged so that each part of the plan could be peeled away to reveal the next. Then he turned to Jerry. "Can you activate the Streisand collection remotely?"

"Yeah. But why would you, that stuff will make your ears bleed. Yeah. It's bad." Jerry's revulsion at having to hear the Streisand made the ship go that much faster.

"It's not for us, it's for them." Fred explained. "Just grab that floor as we pass by and be ready to activate the music."

A scream filled the bridge, followed by a series of retching gags. The ensign Fred had handed his wallet to was on his hands and knees, white as a sheet, trying hard not to vomit. The contents of Fred's wallet were strewn around him.

"What do you think caused that?" Jerry asked.

Fred gave a sheepish grin. "My family photos."

The tractor beam latched onto the floor plating as they passed. They were traveling at an insane speed now. Well, insane for the Fastidious anyway, Gross Factor 4.5. The ensign saw to that when after an accidental second glance at Fred's photos he lost his lunch. Despite this, the garbage pirates were hot on their trail. They were rapidly approaching an asteroid field. The pirates plan would be to run them into the asteroids where the Fastidious would be trapped and easy pickings, but Fred had something a little bit different in mind.

"Should we do it now?" Jerry asked.

"No." Fred said urgently. "We have to be closer."

The asteroid field loomed large on the main screen. "I think we should do it now. Yeah."

"Wait for it, wait for it!" Fred assured. Finally when it seemed too late, Fred gave the command. "Now!" Simultaneously slapping a post-it note on the navigation console.

A lot happened all at once. Du'ann made an extremely hard right turn; Jerry let go of the floor plating, sending it hurtling into the asteroid field and activating Barbara Streisand's greatest hits; and the ensign put Fred's family photos on every monitor of the ship just before blowing chunks on the control panel.

The Fastidious shot out of there at unheard of speeds as the pirates became trapped with Barbara. There wasn't a Gross Factor to accurately show how fast they were going now. They all heard what they thought to be the sound of angels singing. And in that moment, Du'ann understood everything. Jerry had an uncontrollable urge to ignore the fine print in every warranty he'd ever read. And Fred, he saw the future. A future with a menacing counselor and a drunken Vulcan; the nicest trill doctor with her little frog and his old friend Kadik; an obnoxious kilt wearing engineer with a plunger and a cook with an apron that says 'How's my cooking, call 1-800-eat-this' and a strange blue child. And oh yes, the most amazing Captain he would ever meet, who just happened to be a super hot Caitian chick.

The ship slowed when the ensign's spew shorted out the monitor controls and the screens went dark. They were at the Utopia Planetia recycling yards, a 10 day trip that actually took 10 minutes.

Fred ordered Du'ann to bring the Fastidious into dock on Repulse Drive. As Fred and Jerry checked the crew and ship. With no injuries and minimal damage, Fred gave the order the whole crew had been waiting for. "Let's dump this garbage and go have some fun!"

The End


	9. Chapter 9

...You Might Be Fred Smith

IF:

You think Caitians are hot!

There's a course on you at Starfleet Medical Academy

Your chair has seat belts

You sleep better in Sick Bay rather than in your own bedroom

There's a Bio bed reserved on any ship in the fleet just for you

Alcohol turns you into a Kung Fu master

You ever choked on a diagnostic tool

You're not allowed to use sharp implements...EVER

You can do new and unusual things with a transporter

Your clones are real pansies

All the corners in your quarters are padded

You can maintain a cheesy grin...while on fire

You know all the medical personnel in the quadrant by name

Crossing the room involves donning personal protective equipment

The Borg don't WANT to assimilate you

You're think that fire suppressant foam is fun

You can strangle yourself with anything

You never have to fight your way through a crowded room. They run out of your way in fear

You spent most of your youth unconscious

The thought of hairballs makes you giddy


End file.
